Kent remained staring ahead for an instant then returned thoughtfully to his office, and within a second Sylvester received a telephone message to show Colonel McIntyre into Kent's office. Not only Colonel McIntyre followed the clerk into the room but Benjamin Clymer. “Any further developments, Kent?” inquired the banker. “No, we can't sit down; just dropped in to see you a minute.”
“There is nothing new,” Kent had made instant decision; such information regarding the death of Turnbull as he had gleaned from Ferguson, and the events of the night before should be confided to Clymer alone, and not in the presence of Colonel McIntyre.
“Did you search Turnbull's apartment last night as you spoke of doing?” asked McIntyre.
“I did, and found no trace of your securities, Colonel.”
McIntyre lifted his eyebrows as he smiled sarcastically. “Can I see Rochester?” he asked.
“He is in Cleveland; I don't know just when he will be back.”
“Indeed? Too bad you haven't the benefit of his advice,” remarked McIntyre insolently. “At Clymer's request, Kent, I have allowed you until Saturday night to find the securities and either clear Turnbull's name or admit his guilt; there remain two days and a half before I take the affair in my own hands and make it public.”
“I hope to establish Turnbull's innocence before that time,” retorted Kent coolly.
Inwardly his spirits sank; had not every effort on his part brought but further proof of Jimmie's guilt? That McIntyre would make no attempt to hush up the scandal was obvious.
“Keep me informed of your progress,” McIntyre's manner was domineering and Kent felt the blood mount to his temples, but he was determined not to lose his temper whatever the provocation; McIntyre was Barbara's father.